


Desperate Measures

by maximumneptune



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Divergence, Demon!Dean, Dissociation, Gen, SPN - Freeform, demon!Sam, season 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 10:29:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12252540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximumneptune/pseuds/maximumneptune
Summary: Dean disappeared, and once Sam thought that maybe, just maybe, he could get his brother back from the Mark of Cain's demonic influence, everything goes wrong.Sam is left with one last choice.





	Desperate Measures

Sam felt something die inside him when he found that bed empty. 

When Crowley didn't show. 

And when he plunged that knife into the demon, chained to a tree and arrogant as usual, her blood staining his blade, something new appeared in his mind.

No. Not something new. Something that he thought he'd killed years ago. Something that he hated himself for even thinking of. 

He had been young, then. Young, and angry, and an idiot.

But it was there, and no matter how hard he tried, the idea only cemented itself. All he could do was push it back, shove it away and promise himself that it was Plan Z--not even Plan Z. Plan Z Minus Infinity. He wouldn't.

Weeks passed, and when he finally had Dean's location, of course something had to go wrong.

And there he was, tied to a chair, his face stinging from a blow dealt by the man who was talking to his brother on the phone.

Dean didn't care. He told the man--Cole, someone whose father was killed by Dean years and years ago--that he could do whatever he wanted to Sam, because he was coming to kill Cole either way. Sam wasn't nearly as surprised as he wished he was. Hurt, yes. It was painful to hear your own brother condone slitting your throat, but that wasn't Dean talking. Not really.

Cole responded to the information about vampires and werewolves exactly like any normal person would. 

Psycho liar. 

And then he brought out the hammer. Sam's fingers twitched in response to the anticipated pain, but he kept his face neutral. This was a human. He had endured torture from Lucifer...had Lucifer ever used a hammer?...and he wouldn't let this man, who had just happened to choose the worst possible time to pick a fight, intimidate him. 

\---

Warm, metallic blood ran over his mouth, reminding him of Plan Z Minus Infinity. The cold metal of the hammer seeped through his jeans and into the skin on his knee. A warning. Talk now, or else. 

He could have laughed out loud when the phone rang, and Cole answered it with "hey darlin'." His wife. She'd probably be thrilled to know that her loving husband had been about to shatter Sam's kneecap when she called.

Thank god that she did, though, because there was a pocketknife on the ground and he really needed to call Cas.

\---

One stuttery conversation over the phone and some fake FBI work later, and Sam had some leads on Dean. He felt like he was getting close, but the last thing he'd expected...

...was Crowley.

"Hallo, Bullwinkle."

Sam tensed and refrained from whirling around and stabbing Crowley right through his heart, instead opting to turn slowly and draw his knife. Good thing, too, because as much as he hated to admit it, Crowley had the information he needed.

And now he was face to face with Dean. Dean, sitting at the piano in some random bar, the First Blade placed casually in front of him. Whose voice was still his own, but somehow different. Cold. Callous. Sam could do cold and callous, but he wouldn't match the sinister, malicious expression that twisted Dean's face.

Sam tried to talk him down. Reminded him of the demon curing ritual. Dean threatened to rip out his throat with his teeth. 

Sam's heart pounded. Watching his brother, leaning carelessly against the bar, making those faces that weren't his own. Laughing at him and mocking him for his warning that he wouldn't back down. The handcuffs jangled in Sam's hands.

Shattered glass. His lungs burned. Dean was unphased. Cole was there, and then everything was dark. But only for a while.

He woke up with his face pressed against concrete and Dean's voice ringing in his ears as he taunted someone that Sam couldn't see. 

Someone got punched. More taunting. Sam squinted against the sudden light and raised his head to see Dean, effortlessly beating Cole into the ground as if the man was nothing but an inconvenience. 

He was distracted.

Sam fumbled in his pocket for his flask. Cole's body slammed into a car and crumpled to the ground. 

Handcuffs. Holy water. Sam rose warily to his feet and unscrewed the top of the flask as Dean lowered the First Blade from Cole's neck. 

He had him now.

\---

They failed. He failed, and Dean was gone again. 

Sam's mind raced as he poured himself another drink and traced the grain of the table with his eyes. He should have realized. He should have known that the devil's trap would fail once Dean was just human enough. He should have assumed the worst, and put more security measures in place, but instead he refused to believe that his brother couldn't be saved and kept up his charade of optimism. 

Dean shouldn't have been able to do what he did. With only one injection left, that much purified blood coursing through his veins should have kept him from being powerful enough to overpower Cas and teleport away. Sam hadn't known Dean could teleport. He didn't even know if Dean had known. 

But he had done it. Whatever the Mark had done to him, it hadn't turned him into an ordinary demon. He would've been a sobbing mess after that much blood. 

And that was it, wasn't it? Blood. 

He knew he could try again. He could recapture Dean, lock him up in the dungeon, and start the agonizing process over, this time with more protections. Could he bear to cause his brother that much pain again? That was assuming he could even get the jump on him. He'd be wary now. 

When Dean had first disappeared, he had been upset. Upset and angry. But at some point, everything just stopped processing the way he knew it was supposed to. He was just...numb.

He couldn't do it anymore. He was done. 

Castiel had taken off after Dean escaped, promising solemnly to call with any news. Sam had nodded and bit back the words that he wanted to scream until his lungs gave out. 

It was just him in the Bunker again, alone with his thoughts, his books, and an arsenal. 

Crowley's words came back to him.

"You don't care that he's a demon. Heck, you've been a demon. We've all been demons."

True.

\---

Sam's breath came in short bursts as he gave chase to the demon. He cursed himself for not just stabbing it from behind, but in any case, he was determined and gaining fast, despite the demon's speed.

Meatsuit. Odd that he was thinking of the possessed human as just a shell, a vessel for the monster--a monster like his brother--inside of it. He knew why he was making that distinction. After all, Sam had to find some way to lessen his own self-loathing for what he was about to do. 

The demon, with the back of its large coat streaming in the wind, jumped over a branch that almost caught Sam by surprise. He stumbled a bit, but regained his footing. The demon wasn't so lucky. As it glanced backwards to check Sam's distance from it, it missed a fallen tree in its path. The meatsuit went down hard, and Sam was there in an instant.

"Wait!" the demon yelled, before the knife reached its chest. "I can help you! What do you need? In...information? I can get information!" 

Sam's mind was racing, but he regarded his enemy with cold indifference that rivaled that of even the soulless version of him. The demon gulped. 

"Yeah, you can help." 

Orange light burned through the meatsuit as the blade skewered its heart. Its body tensed and its head spasmed backwards, mouth frozen open in agony as the demon was obliterated. 

Sam slid the blade out of the demon's chest and instinctively went to wipe the crimson blood off of the metal. 

But he stopped. 

This is what I'm here for. But am I really going to do this? 

He took a deep breath of the cool forest air and raised his eyes to the tops of the trees, as if he was looking for a sign from God that would tell him what to do. 

Yeah. Sure. 

He'd given himself plenty of time to change his mind. It wasn't going to happen. No matter how much he knew that there was no going back afterwards, no matter how much he hated himself for even considering the idea, no matter how much he knew that Dean, the real Dean, wouldn't want this...

"I'm sorry," Sam muttered. It was an apology to everyone. To Cas, to God, if he was out there, to himself, to all the people who would wonder where he went, and to all the people who would die because of him.

Sam raised the knife to his lips and let the warm but rapidly cooling blood pass over his lips. The metallic liquid that he couldn't keep from being horrifyingly familiar lingered on his tongue for a moment before he let it slide easily down his throat.

He wanted to laugh and cry and gag and slit his own throat before the blood could affect him, but he realized quickly that it was too late for that.

There it was, that well of power that he'd convinced himself was dried up. It was small and atrophied from years of disuse, but when he was done, that wouldn't be a problem.

Screw it. Screw them. Go big or go home, right?

This time, maybe it was go big AND go home.

Home was with his brother.

\---

Dean grimaced as he felt a presence behind him, then allowed his expression to morph into a sardonic smile and turned around, glass of whiskey in hand. 

He raised an eyebrow at the tall, familiar figure standing across the room from him. Familiar, and yet...something was off. It was definitely Sam, but he wasn't tense and confrontational. If he hadn't known better, Dean would say he was even holding back a smile.

"Afternoon, Sammy," Dean said, and threw back his drink to see if he would get a response. "Should've known you wouldn't stop looking. Ready for round two? I'm not holding back this time."

"No, Dean," Sam said, his voice calm. "That's not what I'm here for."

"Well, by all means enlighten me. You're a whole lot less angsty than last time. Take a Xanax or something?"

Sam smiled and looked down at the floor, then back up at Dean. 

"Something like that. I'm honestly surprised you can't tell."

Dean's eyes narrowed at that. On a hunch, he allowed his vision to pierce the facade of the meatsuit world and go into what he called "true-form mode." Sam's true face was definitely similar to his own. Maybe not as skeletal and maybe not with as much smoke and fire shrouding it, but it was definitely the face of a demon.

"Well, damn," Dean said, after a beat of silence. "Went and got yourself possessed, then?"

"No."

"No?"

Sam raised his arms to his sides, then let them drop. 

"All me."

Dean blinked. Sam must have blinked at the same time, because in that split second, his eyes had turned that glossy black color that they both knew so well. Dean grinned, finally making the connection. 

"Demon blood?"

Sam nodded. Dean whistled appreciatively.

"Had to have been a lot, huh? More than with Lilith or Lucifer?"

"A lot more. I could probably exorcise you in half a second right now," Sam replied. Dean laughed.

"Is that why you did it? To exorcise me? That won't work, Sammy, unless you're looking to kill me permanently, and I think we both know you can't do that," he said. Sam shrugged and gave a short laugh back. 

"Like I said, I'm not here to fight. When you escaped, I kind of just...gave up. Chased a demon into the woods, killed it, drank until I didn't hate myself for drinking anymore, and came here."

This was better than Dean ever could have hoped for. Not in a million years did he think Sam would join him. As much as he hated to admit it, he still had some lingering attachment to Sam from when he was human, and this...this was just perfect.

Dean poured himself and his brother a drink. He smiled as he closed the distance between them. Sam wouldn't be as merciless as him. Few demons were. The Mark had done its job. But the eyes were there. Eyes that matched his own.

"In that case," he said as Sam accepted the glass from him with a smile. "How about I show you the ropes?"


End file.
